


i had to follow you (though you did not want me to)

by blizzardeggs



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Additional Tags/Warnings In Author's Note, Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Dubious Consent, Facials, Foursome - F/M/M/M, Inflatable Dildos, MAG101: Another Twist, Mindfuck, Multi, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Male Character, Uncanny Valley, Vaginal Fingering, again. in a way, in a way considering how nikola and breekon & hope are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blizzardeggs/pseuds/blizzardeggs
Summary: Nikola has found another way she can prepare Jon's skin for the Unknowing.
Relationships: Breekon & Hope/Jonathan Sims, Michael | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nikola Orsinov/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	i had to follow you (though you did not want me to)

**Author's Note:**

> this started from a conversation about how cum is good for your skin and then. it escalated.
> 
> the words used for jon's genitalia are clit, cunt, and hole
> 
> additional tags:  
> \- jon gets covered in cum  
> \- nikola uses a dildo like a real dick  
> \- she also uses balloons to stretch out his holes  
> \- michael puts his fingers in jon way deeper than is physically possible  
> \- typical stranger and spiral mindfuckery  
> \- jon has a Bad Time

Jon feels hazy in the worst way possible when he wakes up.

He is not where he was before he got knocked out. Well, he sort of is—he’s still surrounded by those _creepy_ wax figures, but they’re in different positions, and…

A draft sweeps through the room, and he shivers. It wasn’t _that_ cold before, why—

When he looks down, he realizes that he’s naked. And he’s sitting in some broken down, porcelain tub. He’s still restrained, though...Christ, did Nikola cut his clothes off?

 _“You’re not cooperating very well, you know that, right?” Even Nikola’s huff was eerily sing-songy. “Fine, then. I have another idea. We won’t_ need lotion once we’re done with you.”

She must’ve knocked him out right after that, but his memory of her saying that is clear as day. He doesn’t know if that’s for better or for worse.

“Ah, you _are_ awake!” That same voice sends a chill up Jon’s spine, and panic starts racing through his mind. “I wouldn’t have waited for you to do so, but I’m feeling a little _generous_ today, Archivist.”

He tries to say something, but just like before, it’s muffled behind the cloth she stuffed into his mouth. Nikola just laughs. “Oh, you’ll see. But I _will_ say that it doesn’t involve lotion!” 

From...somewhere on her ringmaster’s outfit, he can’t really tell—she pulls out a couple of balloons. “Now then, just stay still. It’s not like you can escape anyway!”

Jon makes a noise of confusion before he lets out a muffled yell. Nikola turns him so he’s facing her, and _god,_ her face is creepy, far too realistic for it to ever pass as a human one. He looks away as she spreads his legs. He tries to kick at her, but her cold, plastic grip only tightens on his thighs. She pulls away momentarily to stretch out the neck of one balloon, before she...places it inside his cunt?

The panic sets in again when she leans in and _starts blowing the balloon up inside him, what the fuck,_ and after a few puffs from Nikola he’s plenty stretched out. But she keeps going, and the panic keeps building, and he balls his hands into fists and and starts to cry out in pain.

Nikola lets out a little “hmph” before tying the balloon shut. Jon’s glad that it’s over, but Christ, he feels like he’s going to rip something if he moves.

It’s a bit too late for that, though, because she’s turning him around and spreading his ass cheeks. Well, now he’s _definitely_ going to rip something.

Nikola must show him a bit of mercy, though, as she doesn’t blow the balloon up as big as the one in his cunt is, but it’s still a barely manageable stretch.

Worst of all, he doesn’t completely hate it.

 _“There_ you are,” she says, pulling away and clapping her hands together. “Oh, you’ll be _just right_ for when you need to get stuffed. After all, it’s not just the outside skin that counts!” Nikola giggles, its sinister edge echoing throughout the building. When she sees Jon flinch, she continues. “Oh, don’t be like that, Archivist. You’ll have some time before those delivery men come back. You’ll be absolutely _ruined_ when they’re done with you, but for now? It’s my turn.”

He tilts his head in confusion, only to see Nikola pull _another_ thing seemingly out of nowhere. It’s...a dildo this time, a big one that matches the deep red on her coat. There’s a suction noise as she attaches it to her crotch, and the dildo twitches. 

“Did you know that semen is good for your skin, Archivist? I think you should save some money and take this lesson to heart.” With little effort, she grips the dildo in her hand and presses down on it, cum shooting out of the head. She aims it at Jon’s face, and he closes his eyes tight as the surprisingly warm liquid coats his face. A few drops of it leak down his lips and into his mouth, catching on his tongue. It tastes sickeningly sweet, like concentrated cotton candy. 

The dildo actually goes _limp_ when she stops cumming, the last few drops hitting the floor. When Jon relaxes, though, Nikola tilts her head. “What, you think that was all? Oh _no,_ Archivist, I can’t possibly be done with you just yet! Every inch of you needs to be covered if I want to wear you for the Dance, after all.”

The thought of being cummed on and then skinned makes him shudder, but...he can’t exactly _do_ anything about it. Whatever powers he had before this, they don’t seem to work in here. 

He almost manages to ignore the high pitched gasps and moans coming from Nikola, and he cringes because she sounds like a terrible porn actor—at least, from what little he’s seen. Still, it doesn’t take long for her to cum _again,_ the liquid landing on his chest this time. 

She cums quickly, those same terrible noises filling the room as she aims the dildo at various parts on his body, sticky and warm. “You’ve fallen so _far,_ Archivist. To think ‘Elias’ wanted you for such great things! And here you are, sitting here absolutely _soaked_ in me.” She laughs, a loud, high noise that makes his eardrums rattle. “Pathetic, isn’t it? You weren’t even a _good_ choice.” She tilts his head up with a finger, and _oh god,_ he can feel his heart starting to race and slick starting to coat his cunt. 

Before Nikola can pull away though, she notices something. “Oh, goodness, and now you’re getting off on this too?” She laughs again, and it’s even more dizzying up close. Her finger is cold when it traces along his cunt, and he shivers as she collects his slick. 

He can feel two pairs of heavy footsteps reverberating through the room, and his blood goes cold when he realizes just what’s happening. “Well! It looks like you two are back.” She hums, tapping her foot. “Where’s the coffin?”

“Far away like you asked.”

“But close enough that we can still feel it.”

Nikola huffs and waves a hand dismissively. “Fine. So long as I can’t hear it. Now will you two get to work?”

“Sure can.”

Jon yelps as he’s suddenly grabbed by two pairs of huge, cold hands, lifting him up from the tub. “Looks like you did a real number on the Archivist.”

“‘E’s absolutely dripping.” One of them—Jon can’t be fucked to tell the difference anymore—runs a finger down his thigh, and he shivers.

“Don’t touch him that much!” Nikola’s voice makes his head spin _again,_ and she knocks the hand touching his thigh away. “And be patient, will you? I haven’t taken the balloons out.”

God, Jon had forgotten about _that._ With how stretched out he was, he was almost ashamed that he had. Nikola reaches for him, and he tilts his head back and _yells_ as both balloons are pulled out. He clenches around nothing as the one in front of him spreads his folds open.

“Pretty cunt, at least.” He rubs Jon’s clit and he whines, snapping his thighs shut around the wrist.

“Now, now, stop that.” Nikola smacks the hand away. “This isn’t about _him,”_ she says, gesturing to Jon. “His slick will just mess things up! Get to work.”

Jon _screams_ as Breekon and Hope _slam_ into him, showing no mercy as they fuck him. For how much Nikola stretched him out, Jon knows his walls are going to bleed. Everything is so _rough,_ and he cries and pants, not even having the energy to keep his head up.

Neither of them stop, even as they come inside him—he can’t even be surprised that they do it at the same time. Of course they do. But they _keep going,_ and even though Jon knows that, it doesn’t stop him from sobbing as they grunt and grab at him, just enough to keep him from collapsing. 

“Oh, Archivist,” Nikola coos. “As much as it is _fun_ to hear you cry around that cloth, I really do think your throat needs some work.” 

Before Jon can realize just what she means, she shoves Breekon’s (Hope’s?) head out of the way and stands right in front of him. Even though the cloth had been tied tight around his head, she pulls it away like it's nothing. Jon can't fight as Nikola pries his mouth open and pushes her cock right down his throat. It’s still too much, and he cries as she sits on his face. The minute thrusts she makes to ensure she’s in as deep as possible make him retch, and he wishes he had anything besides bile in his stomach.

He loses track of how many times Nikola shoots cum down his throat. Of how many times the delivery men (did they ever have names?) ruin him. 

At some point, he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he is alone, left with a sore throat and aching holes. It’s still so dark, and he’s lying in the tub. 

The cold porcelain gives him some sort of contact, at least. It’s grounding, reminding him that he’s real, that he’s still a person, no matter how deeply the Circus just marked him.

At least, until he hears laughter. Until the static underneath it makes his head feel like it’s full of cotton. 

He can’t even see much over the edge of the tub, but he knows Michael is here now, his long curls shifting every time he moves the slightest bit. He’s not sure if they’re actually blond.

Michael’s laughter hurts Jon’s ears this time, not unlike Nikola’s did. “Oh, Archivist...look at yourself. It’s quite pathetic, isn’t it?”

Jon wants to respond, but he can’t think of anything to say. And even if he could, he’s not sure his throat would let him. So he lies there, looking up as Michael walks over and looms over him.

“Goodness, you look _ruined._ You know, I was just going to kill you, but I think I’m going to have fun with you first.” Jon panics as it reaches for him, as the long fingers curl around his arm as it lifts him up and onto the dirty, cracked floor. He tries not to think about how those same fingers cut up Sasha’s skin, when he tried to convince himself that so much of this wasn’t real.

“W-why…?” is all he can manage to say, his voice quiet and hoarse. 

“You want an explanation from _me?”_ Michael laughs harder this time. “Archivist, you don’t know what I am, and I don’t think you ever will. Your type has always hated me and the things like me because you can’t categorize me, can’t pin me down, can never properly _explain_ just what I am.”

 _“My_ ty—” Jon stops when he realizes Michael’s probably talking about the whole Beholding thing. Something he’ll have to get used to, if he manages to make it out of here alive. He sighs. “Fine. Whatever.” It pains him to not know why, but he figures Michael will just get more agitated if he keeps pushing.

Michael chuckles, and it crawls over him. He could’ve sworn it had more than two arms for a split second, and its (far too long) tongue lolls out of its mouth to lick a wet, pungent stripe up Jon’s chest. The scent makes him dizzy, and he can’t focus as his legs are spread. Michael’s fingers wrap around his thighs more than once, and it makes a noise of delight(?) when it spots the cum still leaking out of him from earlier.

“Oh, Archivist, you’ve made this too nice for me.” Michael grins, sharp teeth flashing in the darkness as it lifts a finger. Jon realizes just where it’s going to go, and he squirms, trying to close his legs but failing, despite there being nothing physically in the way of doing so. 

“W-wait, please, that’s too— _ah!”_ Jon cries out as the tip of Michael’s finger goes inside of him. It looked thin and long and dry, but it feels like it’s filling his entire cunt and rubbing up against his walls. It still feels bony and sharp, like a single twitch of a nail could rip him open. It’s already poking at his cervix, but Jon Knows (does he?) that the finger hasn’t moved any further than the tip. 

“You’re already so _delicious,”_ Michael says, biting its lip and miraculously not drawing blood. Jon wonders if Michael even has blood. “I think you need another one.”

Before Jon can protest that his cunt is already full enough, that he doesn’t need to be stretched out _more,_ he can feel a second finger prodding at his rim. He whimpers, and with it, Michael pushes inside. Despite how wrecked his holes were from Nikola and the delivery men, he still feels so tight around its finger. Unlike the one in his cunt, this one feels malleable, soft, almost like a tentacle. He clenches around it, and Michael laughs, pushing it deeper inside him.

Jon pants with every twitch of Michael’s fingers, and when he looks up at it, he can see it changing. Different colors, different fractals, up close or far away or gone completely, and his head hurts trying to figure out which is real.

“Archivist, you seem quite distressed,” it tells him, and he can’t tell where its voice is coming from. “Perhaps having something to suckle on would soothe you?” 

Jon can’t even answer before yet another finger that he’s pretty sure is from the same hand as the other two (but he can never be certain, not really) slips past his lips and into his mouth. 

It can’t be that far in, but Jon already feels it prodding at his throat, and he whimpers. He can’t, he _can’t,_ it’s too sharp, it’s going to tear his throat to pieces—

It goes farther in. All of Michael’s fingers reach deeper and deeper inside of Jon, and he can feel his mind growing hazier by the second. He can’t seem to keep his tongue inside his mouth anymore, getting spit all over Michael’s finger (if it’s still there, that is). Any time he manages to get a better hold of his mind and try and put it back in, the haze overtakes him again.

Michael just laughs. “So desperate to keep your dignity intact, Archivist? Even when you’re like this, already used and broken. How... _pathetic.”_ Jon can only whine as the fingers reach deeper.

He knows he’s losing himself, but he’s already so far gone that the thought of fighting can’t even cross his mind. Jon swears he can feel the fingers inside him brush against each other. If he still could, he would wonder how they could do that without ripping his insides to shreds. And yet, despite himself, it feels _good._

When the finger inside his cunt brushes against his clit, it sets him over the edge almost instantly, and Jon comes. He didn’t even realize he was getting aroused, but he can feel the slick around Michael’s finger. It still feels thick. It probably is.

“You look so _adorable_ like this, Archivist. A shame I’ll have to kill you, though.” 

The threat doesn’t even register to Jon, his eyes glazed over and staring blankly at Michael. Its smile gets bigger and sharper as it reaches back to the door, fingers still firmly inside of him. “It would make I Do Not Know You quite upset if I took you away to kill you, you know. That’s exactly why I’m taking you with me.”

Jon nods numbly. He can’t fight back. He doesn’t want to when he’s like this.

He shouldn’t expect much, but he does expect to be taken into the Distortion’s corridors. So when he sees Michael’s other hand jiggle the doorknob, he’s...confused. He has been confused, but it’s now focused on a single point. Michael’s expression turns to confusion as well, and then fear. “N-no, no, that’s, th-that’s not…” Its eyes widen. “No.”

Jon has no clue what happens next. He hears screaming—painful, distorted screaming, but nothing about Michael changes until he and the door are gone. Jon falls backward, and he feels a sickening crack from the back of his head as it hits the floor. The fingers are gone, the haze is gone, and his mind is suddenly flooded with the knowledge that Michael is _gone._ He groans, curling in on himself. The pain from what Michael’s done to him, much less his new head injury, floods his body, and he can barely tell that a new door has appeared.

Still, when a new figure steps through it, Jon knows that it’s...Helen? “H-Helen Richardson? You...what happened to Michael?”

Helen simply shrugs. “Michael is no longer me, Archivist. I am not...Helen, exactly, but she fits better than Michael.”

“What did you _do_ to her?”

“Helen is gone. So is Michael. It’s just me.”

“I-I...I don’t understand.” Jon sighs. “I suppose I should expect that from the Distortion.”

The Distortion—Helen, now—hums. “Do you want to leave?”

“Are you going to kill me still?”

She—it?—shakes her head. “No. That was Michael’s desire. I am...unsure how _I_ feel about you, but...I remember Helen liked you. There’s quite a lot to consider. But, for now, I will help you leave.”

“How do I know you’re not going to kill me?”

“Would being skinned by The Stranger be any better?”

Jon sighs. He would die either way. “Right...right, I...h-how long have I been here?”

“A while. Time is quite difficult. Especially for someone in your state.” She opens her door and reaches a hand out to Jon. “Are you ready to come with?”

“No, but…” Jon looks back, hearing what he knows to be a calliope being played. He turns back to Helen and grabs her hand, avoiding the sharp edges as he’s pulled up. Helen smiles, still wide and sharp, as she takes him through the door.


End file.
